


The Easterling - Book Two

by Helcaraxe



Series: The Easterling [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Monsters, POV Multiple, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helcaraxe/pseuds/Helcaraxe
Series: The Easterling [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000476
Kudos: 1





	1. The Masters

Gareth awoke to a beam of sunlight hitting him in the face. He moaned and rolled to his right to get out of its way, to not much use: the window was too wide for that. He took a deep breath and slid out from under the sheets. Not bothering to put anything on, he walked to the basin in the corner and splashed a handful of cold water in his face. A rude awakening, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He turned back to the bed: Helena was still sleeping, sprawled across the bed in a pose that a contortionist would envy her for, one arm hung over the edge, silently snoring, a faint smile playing on her face. He chuckled silently, taking care not to wake her up. All the considerable dignity she held when awake, especially in groups of people, evaporated when she slept. It only made him love her more; he hated the uptight disposition she reserved for courts, instead preferring her childlike excitement and playfulness that only seemed to appear when they were together. His smile widened: his last few jobs brought him a hefty sum that stayed such even after paying his communal dues. Combined with what he saved up over the year, he wouldn’t have to venture out until the spring. He looked forward to all the time they’d spend together.

A gust of freezing wind that blew through the window reminded him to get dressed. He hastily put on his clothes, and then went to strap his armour on. The four long lacerations in his cuirass, as well as several deep dents in his left bracer reminded him of his last hunt. He put his armour down. Not the best time to put it on, he thought to himself. Reaching into a cupboard, he pulled out a large burlap sack. Carefully, he placed all pieces of his armour in it, and flung it over his shoulder. His next hunt would be a long while off, but getting out of the way early couldn’t hurt; after all, he had plenty of time. Casting one last glance towards Helena, he strapped his sword onto his belt, then carefully unlocked the door and stepped out.

As he walked down the spiral staircase, he could hear the castle awakening; the creaking of old bed frames, groans of disapproval, splashing of water, the beat of myriad footfalls, and of course, the clanking of armour. He smiled as he reminisced about the first lesson his mother, the founder of the Order, gave him, as well as the handful of recruits who made up the first generation of hunters: never allow yourself a dull moment; always be prepared. And it just so happened that this constant vigilance meant the constant bearing of arms, unless it was wildly inappropriate. His class was adamant about the rule, but the newer recruits often thought it to be overzealous, paranoid or just plain ludicrous. Gareth smiled at their misconception: all it really took to set them straight was him and his boys jumping them and beating them with training swords until they were black and blue all over. They wouldn’t complain after that.

Arriving at the bottom of the staircase, he pushed open the door that lead into the great hall. It was empty save for the few early birds who came to get the porridge while it was still warm. Not paying them much attention, he turned into a side chamber and stopped in front of a small, reinforced door. Truth be told, he wasn’t too eager to walk inside: even from behind the thick oak wood and numerous straps of blackened iron bolted around the edges, he could hear the sound of metal striking metal, and feel the monstrous heat emanating from within. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

As on all his previous visits, he wasn’t prepared, and loudly exhaled as the wave of heat struck him on every exposed piece of skin. The large rectangular room was hot as if he stood in a massive foundry. The red brick walls were bleached to almost orange from the near constant heat and light coming from the circular forge that dominated the central portion of the room. It was surrounded by three anvils of varying sizes and massive bellows that looked as if they needed a giant to operate them, but thanks to the complex system of ropes, pulleys and weights, a single man was enough. The northernmost angle of the room was occupied by a large smelter, next to which stood a massive teakwood table, covered with hammers, whetstones, knives, bolts, various scraps of metal and leather, several half finished blades, and a dozen boxes and bottles whose content Gareth could only guess. And next to the table, a surprisingly ascetic and mundane bed. The room had only one window, just wide enough that a child could crawl through it.

Just seconds in, Gareth wished he could leave. The forge made the Deadlands feel pleasant in comparison. No man could survive here for an extended amount of time.

Of course, that didn’t matter to Taldryn Arobar, who wasn’t a man at all.

“Close the door, ya pile of guarshit!” bellowed the voice. “Ya’re lettin’ all the heat out!”

Gareth swiftly obliged, and regretted it even more swiftly; the unbearable heat of the room just became slightly more unbearable. But there was no disobeying the forgemaster in his own tiny kingdom (or his tiny Oblivion realm, as his brothers and sisters called it). And Arobar’s appearance only reinforced that impression. He was built like a mammoth, taller and bulkier than all other members of the Order despite his Dunmer heritage. His arms, that more resembled ashwood logs than limbs, were bulging with veins. As always, he was bare-chested and barefoot, dressed only in loose leather trousers held in place by a belt. What could be seen of his skin was covered in rows of scars of varying lengths and widths. His narrow face was of sharp features, which made even friendly expressions horrifying. And it was even worse when he was frowning. Like he was now.

“Greetings, Taldr-” started Gareth, but before he could finish a sentence, the blacksmith’s massive hands seized him by the collar, lifted him in the air like a rag doll, and slammed him to the wall. Gareth cringed in discomfort as the heat of the walls started to almost cook his back.

“Ya little clap-riddled cunt! How many times did I tell ya not to keep the door open!?” screamed Taldryn.

“Oh come now, Taldryn.” Gareth tried to sound as friendly as possible, which likely failed over the combination of his squeaky voice, laboured breathing, and the blacksmith’s steel grip. “You barely lost any heat.”

“Hmm..” Gareth felt the grip on his shirt lessen, then disappear completely. He dropped on his feet and scampered away from the wall as Taldryn scratched his braided beard for what seemed like hours. “Be s’pposin’ you’re right, kid,” he finally added after what seemed like an eternity. “Doesn’t feel any less pleasant in here.”

Gareth tried to normalize his breathing: every breath of the scalding air roasted his lungs, and he preferred to breathe as little as possible here. It didn’t bother Taldryn in the slightest.

“Wager you need sum’n hammered, wuss,” croaked Taldrin over the sound of the bellows blowing. “Lucky fer you, I ain’t not got much to do now, so I can look at it right away.”

“My armour, Taldryn,” confirmed Gareth. “Bastard got it pretty good. I’ll need a frontal leather change for the chestpiece, straightening and tarnish for the left bracer, and a checkup of all the other pieces.”

“Why the checkup?” Taldryn paused pumping just long enough to carefully place a few bars of steel in the fire. They went orange almost instantly. “You goin’ on one of ‘em hunts again?”

“Not anytime soon, no.” Geralt lowered the sack onto the table. “But I’d rather have it in working condition for when I need it.”

“And wha’bout that sword of yers?” asked Taldryn. “Should I check ‘er out too?”

Instinctively, Gareth’s hand lowered on the circular pommel of the weapon.

“There won’t be any need for that.” His voice came out colder than he intended. Taldryn didn’t seem to notice.

“I know yer old lady gave it ta ya, but any smith worth his ash salt will tell ya the same as me: it’s mighty old, it is, and ya never let anyone touch it. Not ev’n me. All sorts o’ things could be wrong with it. It could fail ya on the next hunt, and then you’d be royally fucked. Let me have a look at it; I’ll lend ya one of my blue steel pieces in the meantime-”

“No, Taldryn.”

The smith stopped pumping the bellows. For a moment, he just stood glaring at Gareth, who returned the glare with equal intensity.

“Ah, what the fuck,” concluded Taldryn finally. “Keep it like tha’ if ya want: ain’t no my fucking funeral when ya get skinned.” He reached into the forge and grabbed one of the steel bars with his bare hand. Pulling it out, he briefly observed it, before lowering it back in its place. He picked up Gareth’s sack and placed it on table, unfastened it, and started removing pieces, carefully observing each of them and twirling them between his massive fingers as if they were coins before setting them on the table. When he reached the left bracer, his glance briefly stopped on the indentations on the metal.

“Teeth marks,” he said matter of factly. “Big jaw too.” he added. “Can be fixed.”

He placed the bracer on the rounded end of his medium anvil and grabbed one of his smaller hammers. Gareth watched, transfixed, as the hulk of a mer struck the indentations gently, yet rapidly, moving the plate to get it from all the angles. He was surprisingly graceful: it looked like he was weaving a tapestry, rather than fixing a scraped plate. He was done in just a few moment, and other than the shine on the hammered part, the bracer looked as good as new.

“Hand me that yellow bottle there, lad,” demanded Taldryn. Gareth’s eyes shot to the side, and he instantly found what he looked for: a narrow glass bottle, half filled with fine yellow powder. He handed it to the smith, who uncorked it and carefully tapped it over the shiny part of the plate, letting a pinch of powder drop on it. The air filled with the stench horribly reminiscent of rotten eggs. Taldryn corked the bottle, and gently spread the powder over the silver, almost rubbing it in. When he was done, he carefully placed the bracer in a small leather bag and tucked it away. Absently, he pushed his stained fingers into the fire, causing the residue powder on them to burst into flames. Returning to the table, he pulled out several more pieces, before finally taking the cuirass out. A drawn out whistle escaped his lips as he caressed the torn leather on the front.

“Sweet Mephala, what did this?” he muttered to nobody in particular. He turned to Gareth. “What leather was this?” he asked.

“Doe,” said Gareth.

“Doe?” quizzed Taldryn. “D’ya _want_ to get eaten out there, moron?” He took a chisel and stared carefully separating bolts that held the plate and leather together. When he was done, he tossed the leather into the fire: nothing more could be done with it.

“Well I ain’t got no doe or wolf or cat here, lad.” said Taldryn. “Your cretin friends used ‘em all up, and next shipment ain’t until next full moons. I only have netch.”

“You do?” said Gareth with a hint of excitement. He heard stories about the leather’s amazing properties: it was lighter and more resilient than normal leather, and could divert the blow completely if worn by one nimble on his feet. “That’d be perfect.” he added.

“Also expensive, wuss,” retorted Taldryn. “It’s an import, and that damn queen of yers lets the traffic from Solstheim drip when it could flow.”

“Don’t worry, Taldryn,” said Gareth reassuringly. “I’ll be able to pay you right away.”

“Ya better, dwarf,” said Taldryn. “Now get outta here, I got work to do. I’ll send it over to ya when it’s done.”

Gareth wanted to believe that leaving Taldryn weighed heavily on his soul, but after stepping out and taking in a few breaths of crisp winter air, he decided not to lie to himself.

\---

Stepping outside the castle, Gareth turned east. The sun rose far enough to somewhat illuminate the world, but not quite enough to start warming it. Several of his brothers and sisters were already outside, diligently practising. He saw Olga swinging her heavy axe, beheading a straw dummy in one slash. Felara was jabbing her rapier in a similar dummy with the speed of a cat, in a pattern that maimed the limbs first. Niromel was loosening an arrow after arrow from the top of the walls, drawing out a star on a target only about as large as a shield which would be almost invisible from that distan-

Something struck him on the back of a head with enough force to knock him into onto the snowy ground. For a moment, his world exploded in a whole palette of colours, but he was back before he knew it. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he heard a giggle from behind him. His lips parted into a vicious grin. He grabbed a handful of snow and formed it into a firm ball, before shooting up into a standing position and flinging it to the source of the laughter.

She dodged it with the elegance of a dancer despite wearing an armour that would hinder someone of her stature. Gracefully, her dodge transitioned into a pirouette, her plated half-skirt swirling around her. Her faced cracked into a smile to match his own.

“I win again!” she proclaimed cheerfully as she hopped her way to him. Her black hair, tied into a ponytail as always, swished behind her revealing her pointed ears, with two streaks framing her small, sightly round face. Her skin, as pale as Secunda’s surface, seemed to glow faintly under the rising sun. Her lips, red like cherries, only barely concealed her teeth, white as polished pearls. To many, she was an image of perfection, only slightly put off by a long, pink scar that stretched over her left brow and eye, cutting into her cheek, and the left eye itself, that was mystically purple, as opposed to her right eye, which was azure.

“You win again,” he admitted, “for the fiftieth time in a row,” he added under his breath.

Thanael Emberstar, famous for her frightening efficiency in hunting monsters, taking and completing jobs that would usually take a small group of people to even consider, heard him and laughed.

“You have to get faster!” she chirped. She slapped him on the shoulder, and he winced. For someone shorter than him by his whole head, and likely twice as lighter, she was deceptively strong.

“I doubt I’ll ever be able to match you, Thani,” he said apologetically.

Instead of a response, she hugged him, pinning his arms to his side. The air was forced out of his lungs, and he had to invest a monstrous effort to wiggle one of his hands free and tap out on her shoulder. She released him, grinning like a maniac.

“So, when’re you off again?” she asked.

“Not anytime soon,” he said. “I intend to stay until the spring.

Thanael’s grin melted off into a smile of genuine happiness. She hugged him again, albeit much gentler this time. He returned the hug and patted her on the back.

They split, and Thanael scratched her nose.

“So,” he asked, “how did the last job go?”

“Fairly easy,” Thanael said with a hint of pride in her voice. “A classic: conjuror messed up and summoned five daedroths instead of one. Didn’t find much of him left when I arrived, but the daedroths were still there. They aren’t anymore.”

Gareth shuddered: Thanael was the only person he knew that would call confronting five angry daedroths by herself anything even resembling “fairly easy”.

“How much did they pay you?”

Thanael proudly stuck out her chest. “Fifteen hundred. The Jarl was more than grateful for my quick response,”

Gareth whistled, impressed.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Me? I got to track down a couple of missing children and found a windigo at the end of the trail. Killed the bastard, got the whelps home safely. Got five hundred pieces for it.”

“Not a bad job,” Thanael noted. “Did you use fire oil?”

“I didn’t have any on me,” said Gareth bitterly, remembering the smashed bottles in his pouch.

“Why did you go hunt a windigo without any-”

“Master Gareth! Master Gareth!”

They turned to the source of the voice: it was Julius, and he was running in their direction, hand on the pommel of his sword. When he stopped next to them, he was breathing heavily.

“Master Gareth,” he squeezed, trying to catch his breath, “the Council summons you… it’s immediate… must see them now.” He only seemed to notice Thanael then, and he immediately straightened up.

“Lady Thanael, my apologies for interrupting you,” he said formally, with a slight hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Cut it out, Julie,” she joked, before playfully shoving him, causing him to stumble. “I’m not your commanding officer and you don’t have to apologize. What does the Council want with Gareth?”

“Forgive me, Lady Thanael, but I was instructed only to summon Master Gareth. I don’t know any more details.”

“What in the Sixteen Realms could they possibly want with me?” moaned Gareth.

“Maybe it’s dues?” Thanael suggested.

“Paid them already,” he responded.

“Maybe a mission?”

“Talos preserve me, I hope not,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on venturing out until the spring.”

Nobody said anything for a few seconds.

“Well, whatever it is, you best go now.” Thanael adjusted a strap of her armour. “If they say it’s urgent, it’s urgent.”

“I’m beginning to wonder that,” said Gareth. “Very well Julius, lead the way.”

The young Cyrod nodded, gave a nervous half-bow to Thanael, and set off towards the castle. Gareth followed him closely. It seemed he wouldn’t be getting the free time he wanted anytime soon.

\---

The main council chamber was located in a place of former chapel of Molag Bal. The large chamber was cleared of any religious paraphernalia, which was replaced with some minimalistic furniture and one remarkably large desk that could house all five members of the council. And equally remarkable, they were all there: Brunwylf, a large, burly Nord with a booming voice; Tyerolenmar, an Altmer of sharp features and stern face; Sigmund, a short Nord with an unusual talent for obtaining intelligence; Araneya, a pretty Dunmer, and the only woman in the group; and Decimus, an ageing, nervous Cyrod that spent more time reviewing papers than interacting with living beings.

“You’re late, Easterling.” Tyerolenmar’s cold voice resounded through the largely empty chamber.

Not even a greeting, Gareth thought to himself. “I was only now informed that you wanted to see me, Master Tyerolenmar,” he said, trying his best to fake regret in his voice. Next to him, Julius did his best to hide himself from the piercing eyes of the councillors.

“And you’re out of your uniform?”

“I brought it to Taldryn to have it repaired,” Gareth explained.

“Excuses,” said Araneya with a clear contempt in her voice. “We expect every member to follow the rules.”

“The rules his own mother brought in place, if you’ll remember,” another voice spoke from behind Gareth.

All heads in room immediately turned towards the door. Thanael stood there, staring the council members down.

“Emberstar,” growled Sigmund, disdain clear in his voice. “You were not summoned to this meeting.”

“I have the right to be here as much as any of you, Sigmund,” she retorted. Gareth could almost hear the councillor’s teeth gritting for being addressed without a title. He allowed himself a hidden smile.

“Careful, Emberstar,” spoke Brunwylf. “You may be our best, but that doesn’t give you the right to disrespect your superiors.”

“Of course not, Master Brunwylf,” she responded humbly. Sigmund gripped his pen so hard it snapped. “I merely speak on the behalf of my brothers and sisters, as is my right.”

“Speak then, if you’ve something clever to say,” Araneya taunted her.

“As you wish, Lady Araneya.” Thanael bowed her head slightly. “Brother Gareth has been summoned, but you’ve yet to tell him the reason for it.”

“The Easterling has been assigned a specific task,” said Tyerolenmar, matter-of-factly.

“Someone wished to hire me?” asked Gareth.

“You will speak when spoken to, Easterling,” Tyerolenmar retorted. “But no, you have not been hired. This task is issued directly from us.”

“What is the task then, Master Tyerolenmar?” asked Thanael quickly.

Tyerolenmar’s eyes met Thanael’s own: they studied each other for a moment.

“He is to take on an apprentice,” he finally said.

It was like someone had flung a pail of cold water in his face. Taking on an apprentice was not only a massive responsibility, but also a very long lasting job: his plans were ruined.

“But, Master Tyerolenmar,” he started, struggling to find words, “I did not intend to venture out until the spring.”

“Which is why you’ve been selected,” said Sigmund, with a wicked glint in his eye. “All your other brothers and sisters are too busy to just laze around.”

Gareth felt an irresistible urge to throttle the diminutive man. And he would have maybe gone on with it if Thanael didn’t step out before him.

“Master Tyerolenmar, I humbly request permission to train this apprentice myself,” she said pleadingly.

“Request denied, Emberstar,” Tyerolenmar cut off. “Someone of your talents should not waste her time teaching a whelp how to piss. The Easterling will handle that. And besides, we already have a task suited for someone of your skills.”

Gareth felt powerless anger well up in him. Not only would he have to take on an apprentice, but by the sounds of it, it would be someone who only recently came of age. He would have to look after a child on one of the most dangerous jobs in northern Tamriel. Thanael didn’t look too happy, either. But suddenly, her eyes flashed, and a mischievous smile crept on her face.

“And what if,” she started, barely containing the growing excitement in her voice, “we trained that apprentice together?”

“Preposterous!” screamed Araneya. “Two hunters for a single apprentice? You should know better than to suggest something so absurd!”

“If Lady Araneya would allow me to explain-”

“No explanations,” Araneya quickly snipped, leaning forward in her chair just enough to push it back with an unpleasant squeak on the cold stone floor. “It’s a ludicrous idea and a waste of time and resources. You may say you have good reason, but making a mockery out of a task not even assigned to you simply to ease another’s burden is no excuse.” Her eyes narrowed, an almost bored disdain easing itself into amongst her elven features. “You’d do well to remember that you are in no position to bend our rules, let alone break them, _Emberstar._ ” The name spat forth from her lips with contempt, a clear reply to the earlier lack of respect she’d earlier shown to the council.

Thanael lowered her head, her excitement vanishing like dew in the strong sun.

“Actually, Araneya,” said Brunwylf, “I’m curious to hear what Emberstar has in mind.” At the sound of his words, Thanael lifted her gaze again, smiling hopefully.

“What!?” Araneya’s voice broke as she leaped out of her chair, turning towards the large man. “Since when do we-”

“Silence yourself, Araneya,” said Tyerolenmar in a tone that didn’t allow any complaints. “She has the right to speak.” Araneya clenched her lips, and demonstratively dropped in her chair, staring daggers at her fellow councillors.

“What did you have in mind, Emberstar?” asked Brunwylf with genuine curiosity in his voice.

“If the Masters would allow,” started Thanael, “I would wish for Gareth to accompany me on my jobs, and take his apprentice with him. That way, we will not only finish the jobs faster and more efficiently, but the apprentice would get first hand experience from the best source.”

“But sending two hunters for the same job...” started Tyerolenmar.

“Excuse me, Master Tyerolenmar, but are we not among your best?” said Thanael. “We would be able to handle the high profile jobs much more quickly and efficiently, which means more money for the Order.”

Tyerolenmar relaxed in his chair: it would seem she’d won him over.

“And what of the apprentice’s safety?” said Decimus, surprising everyone present. “High profile jobs could be dangerous for a newblood.”

“The apprentice’s safety would not be compromised, Master Decimus,” said Gareth. “She would be accompanied by two of the finer members of the Order. I would personally make sure she is out of any significant peril.”

Decimus nodded in agreement, before returning to scribbling on his parchment.

“I still see no reason for the two of you to attend to a single apprentice,” snarled Sigmund.

“Enough, Sigmund,” said Tyerolenmar. “The proposition is sound.” He stood up and cleared his throat.

“It has been decided,” he started ceremoniously, “that Gareth the Easterling and Thanael Emberstar” he looked to each of them in turn as he spoke, “will both serve as masters of our latest recruit. This decision was brought forth with best interests of the Order of White Cairn in mind. If anyone wishes to contest this decision, let them speak now.”

Nobody said anything. Araneya and Sigmund were silently steaming. Brunwylf seemed satisfied. Decimus didn’t even look up.

“Julius,” called Tyerolenmar.

Julius immediately stepped out and straightened up.

“Yes, Master Tyerolenmar?” he said.

“Bring in the apprentice,” he said, his gaze moving on to Gareth and Thanael. “I believe some introductions are in order.”

“Yes, Master Tyerolenmar.” Julius nervously bowed and rushed out of the room.

“And as for you two,” Tyerolenmar said, looking strictly at Gareth and Thanael, “I expect you to perform your duties vigilantly, and to the letter. We cannot afford failure.”

Gareth and Thanael nodded in unison. Someone yelled on the outside. Sounds of brief commotion were heard. A sound of a blow, followed by a muffled groan. Gareth and Thanael looked at each other nervously. Then the doors opened and slammed into the wall with a resounding bang.

A young woman walked in, her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a simple, loose shirt, beige pants, and cheap leather boots that went up to her knees. An unimpressive sword hung from her worn-out belt. Her dirty blonde hair was tied in a simple ponytail slung over her left shoulder, and her eyes were the colour of amber. She scanned the room, glaring at everyone present with arrogant contempt.

Moments later, Julius stumbled in. His left eye was almost closed from the swelling, deep purple bruise.

“So,” started the girl, “which of you is going to string along with me?” Her voice was carefree, commanding, and stern: the voice of an arrogant youth.

Gareth could almost hear Thanael blooming next to him. But he wasn’t as nearly as thrilled. To train a boy was one thing, but to train a girl? To train a bratty, and apparently quick to anger and volatile girl with an attitude that promised many future headaches? He could only silently pray for deliverance.”

“Gareth. Thanael.” Tyerolenmar’s voice was deadpan. “Meet your new apprentice: Livia Augustina.”


	2. The Apprentice

“Please, Livia, let me help you with that,” Julius pleaded.

“Let me go, you fathead! I can do it myself.”

“Livia, you mustn’t be so aggressive next to it. It might-”

The sounds of Julius’ panicked babbling were cut short by a thud and a pained groan. Moment later, Julius dropped on the ground, gripping his crotch and moaning in pain.

They were on the shore opposite of castle, next to the stables. Livia was trying to saddle up a large gidran, struggling with saddle’s cinch that just didn’t want to stay in place.

“Stop bullying Julius, Livia,” called out Gareth, who just finished saddling his raven. He took a moment to appreciate the velvety texture of the netch leather on his freshly fixed armour. It felt as if it were throbbing against his skin, in a mostly pleasant way. Not far from him, Thanael has already mounted Helena’s snow-white mare. It painfully reminded him of the sadness on Helena’s face when he had to explain that he couldn’t stay. “And you should really try to push the prong in instead of just tying the belt,” he added.

“Shut up, old man!” snapped Livia, as she pushed the prong into the belt and tied the remaining length into a knot. “I knew that already.”

Beneath a layer of patient annoyance, Gareth felt a sting of pain; old man?

“I’m only twenty five, Livia,” he called out, mounting his steed and patting him on the neck to calm him down. “And you should really show more respect to your elders. Especially towards your master.”

Livia mounted her horse and shot a venomous glare at Gareth “As soon as you earn it, old man.” She spurred her horse and galloped away.

“I’ll go get her,” said Thanael, adjusting herself in her saddle. “Fly, Sieglind,” she commanded to the mare, who instantly broke into a charge.

“And I’m not old!” cried Gareth in her direction as he watched Thanael speed after her. Sighing, he tightened his saddlebags and took hold of reins.

“Master Gareth.” The voice came from Julius. He was standing now, but somewhat cross-legged. “Please take care of my sister.”

Gareth smiled reassuringly and patted the young Cyrod on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Julius: I promise I will. Take care while we’re away.”

And with that, he rode off after the girls.

Not a third of a mile later, he happened across a curious scene: Thanael still sat in her saddle, but Livia was hanging above ground, kicking and struggling to break free from where Thanael’s outstretched hand held her by the bunched cloth on the back of her shirt. Livia’s horse was nowhere to be seen.

“Let go of me, you bitch!” screamed Livia indignantly. She swung at Thanael’s face, missing by a hair’s breadth and ruffling Sieglind’s mane. The mare neighed and trotted forward.

“Watch it now, little girl,” said Thanael after calming her horse. “If you hit Siegling, I’ll be forced to drop you.” To accentuate, she raised Livia a bit higher. The girl immediately stopped struggling.

“What happened here?” questioned Gareth after settling his horse near them.

“She wouldn’t stop, or even slow down, no matter what I told her, “ said Thanael. “So I just picked her up from the saddle,” she added, almost apologetically.

Gareth forced himself to suppress the chuckle. Livia didn’t miss it, and shot a wicked glare in his direction, but said nothing.

Thanael whistled a deep, throaty whistle, and Livia’s gidran gaited to them from the opposite direction. Thanael lowered Livia in a saddle like she was a toddler, and gently adjusted the crumpled fabric on her back, giving her a reassuring smile. Livia didn’t return it.

“You’d do well to listen to what Thanael tells you, Livia,” said Gareth. “She may look young, but she’s got more experience than either of us. Whatever she tells you is not to lead you astray.”

The look in Livia’s eyes was as cold as the Sea of Ghosts. “I don’t have to listen to anything she says; she’s not my master.” She turned to Gareth. “And I wouldn’t listen to her even if she were.” She turned her horse around and spurred it into a gait. Gareth and Thanael followed at the same pace. Livia stayed ahead of them, but only a spear’s reach away, seemingly not too eager to be scooped up again.

“Don’t let it bother you, Thani,” said Gareth, seeing his friend’s dismayed expression. “She’s still young, and they’re always like that in that age. We’ll get to her eventually.”

“I know,” said Thanael, moving a loose strand of hair from her face. “I just wish we didn’t have to.”

Gareth sighed: she was right. This wouldn’t be easy at all.

“Come on, let’s pick up the pace” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “We have a lot of ground to cover if we want to make it to Ilinstead by tomorrow night.”

This seemed to cheer Thanael up a bit, and they both spurred their horses a little faster, catching up to Livia. It was getting colder. The wind started to blow. Livia pulled a dark green travel cloak from her saddlebag and wrapped herself in it. Judging by its state, she was not its first owner. Gareth shivered and fastened his cloak more firmly. Thanael was the only one who didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. They rode like that for a few miles before Livia finally couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“So what’s our task?” she asked.

“The Thane of Ilinstead has hired us,” explained Thanael. “Apparently, their mining operation struck into an ancient Nordic tomb, and now the place is flooded with draugr. Our task it to clear them out.”

“And your task is to watch and learn,” added Gareth, “and not to engage under any circumstances.”

“What?” cried Livia angrily. “No way, I want in.”

“You’d be killed in a moment, Livia,” concluded Gareth. “Draugr aren’t as slow and stupid as you young folk may think. It’s dangerous even for the two of us. You’re not yet ready.”

“Like Oblivion I ain’t!” rebelled Livia, startling her gidran. “Get off that nag of yours and I’ll show you!”

Gareth raised his eyebrow. “So eager to get your ass beaten? Very well. But we don’t stop until twilight. If you’re still willing to take me on then, you’ll have your chance.”

This seemed to appease her. They rode for hours in silence interrupted only by wildlife and an occasional tune that Gareth would whistle to kill the monotony. Only when the sun began to sink to the mountains to the west did they stop. Gareth picked a small clearing in a forest, surrounded by tall pines. A pond murmured nearby.

“Thani,” spoke Gareth after they dismounted, “you and Livia tend to the horses and start the fire. I’ll go out and see if I can catch something.”

“No rabbits,” commanded Thanael. “Or hares.”

Gareth smiled and patter her on the shoulder. “No rabbits or hares,” he promised. He took off his sword belt and placed it next to his unloaded saddlebags, taking only a bow, a few arrows, and a knife with him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Livia demanded. “You promised me a fight.”

“And we shall have one,” Gareth said in response. “But after I return.”

“But it could be dark by then,” complained Livia.

“Even better,” he said. “One that cannot fight in the dark cannot be a monster hunter.”

And with that, he took off, leaving disgruntled Livia behind. Thanael walked up to her and placed her hand on her shoulder.

“Livia, my dear, would you be so kind as to unsaddle the horses while I start the fire?”

Livia shook her hand off. “You think I can’t do it?” she questioned.

“N-no, that’s not what I-” started Thanael, but Livia cut her off.

“Well I can do it,” she exclaimed proudly. “So I’ll tend to the fire.”

Thanael seemed saddened, but she gently nodded and went to tend to the horses. Livia wasted no time dashing off into the forest-

As it turned out, finding enough dry firewood was a challenge in itself. Much of what was on the ground was too wet for her to be able to light it with just flint stones. Ten minutes of hard search yielded only enough barely passable brambles to fit in both her hands. Defeated, she returned to the camp, only to find that Thanael had already managed to unsaddle all three horses, and has neatly stacked both of their saddlebags next to Gareth’s own, and was sitting cross-legged on a tarp near the edge of the clearing, looking at her with a sombre expression.

Suddenly in a very foul mood, Livia dropped the wood on the ground and went to rummage through her saddlebags to find her flint stones. She found them soon enough, and started on the fire. Or at least tried to. As it turned out, the wood she gathered was not dry enough. No matter how many sparks she struck out of her flints, she couldn’t get the fire to flicker into life.

After what seemed like hours, Thanael stood up and, without a word, disappeared into the treeline. Livia was too busy trying to force the wood to ignite to be annoyed at her. It denied her over and over. But she wouldn’t give up. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not with something as simple. Another strike. And another. Nothing. Another. Still nothing. Darkness started to gather and Secunda appeared on the sky. Another. Still nothing.

A pair of boots suddenly appeared before her. The ever-present smell of pine became stronger. Surprised, she raised her sight to their owner.

Thanael stood just an arm’s reach away, clasping her sword with one hand, and carrying a large bundle of freshly cut branches in her free arm. She crouched and gently lowered the pile at Livia’s knees. She pushed them away, scattering some.

“I don’t need your help,” she said rudely. “I can take care of this myself.”

Despite looking to be on the verge of tears, Thanael’s voice was a calm whisper. “You may not need my help, but we still need fire.”

Livia mouthed a curse, but words caught up in her throat: she was right. And even though she wanted to be angry at her, she just couldn’t bring herself to it.

She lowered her eyes, and without a word, started picking up wood piece by piece and stacking it. While doing it, she noticed that the pieces were nicked and cut in many places, and were abundantly leaking resin. She once again lifted her eyes: Thanael was back at the saddlebags, vigorously rubbing her sword’s blade with a fistful of moss and moist grass, cleaning the sticky resin off.

Finally! The resin blazed after just a few strikes, and light returned to the clearing. Considering how fresh the wood was, the fire flared up quick. Warmth came soon after.

Gareth returned just moments later, smiling warmly. The prey he was carrying was already butchered, flayed, and stuck in pieces on an ashwood spit. It was about the size of a small lamb.

“What is that?” asked Livia, eyeing the carcass with a dose of mistrust.

“Skeever,” he responded. Livia felt her stomach contort at the very thought of eating it. “To kill a deer for just one meal would be a waste, and to carry any with us would be a needless burden,” he explained, setting the spit over the fire. “So this is what’s for dinner.” Tossing some more wood onto the fire, Gareth turned to Thanael. She was sitting away from the fire, but as soon as their eyes met, she smiled and stood up to join them.

Gareth’s smile started to fade. He turned his head, scanning his surroundings before something caught his attention. His gaze lingered for a moment, before slowly turning back. Livia felt an involuntary chill crawling up her spine: in this brief time he knew this man, he always looked at her with eyes that were compassionate, pleading, and politely annoyed. But not this time. This time, his eyes emanated cold that made the frosty air around her seem pleasant in comparison. Every nerve in her body begged her to yield and look away. But she forced herself to lock eyes. He was the first one to look away, and she felt triumph. But it faded away when he simply sat next to the fire and started turning the spit, poking the roasting meat from time to time with a knife. She sat near the fire to warm herself up, opposite of Thanael. She noticed the young woman avoiding her look and nervously fidgeting a small piece of pine bark.

The meat was tough, stringy, and of very distinct and rather unpleasant flavour. Livia didn’t enjoy it, wishing for at least a pinch of salt. Gareth neglected his knife almost completely, and was pulling roast from the bones with his bare hands and teeth. Thanael didn’t eat at all.

When they finished, Gareth wiped his hands on the moist ground. Livia caught his sight. It was still cold as before. But this time, it was firm and unrelenting.

“I seem to remember,” he spoke, in voice that was just as cold, “I promised you a duel, Livia. Stand up and prepare yourself.”

Before she could fully process what he just said, he was already on his feet.

“Up and draw your sword,” he commanded.

Her confusion turned to elation. Finally, she’d put him in his place and show her worth. She leaped to her feet and drew out her sword, holding it tightly with her right hand. She waited for him to draw his. But he never did. Instead, he turned around and walked into the forest. Livia stood in place as her elation melted back into confusion. Just a few moments later, he walked out, sheathing his knife, and holding a hazelwood rod. It was a bit over a metre long and cleaned of branches. But it was just that: just a wooden rod. Livia felt her blood boil.

“Are you mocking me?” she hissed.

“Attack,” was all that he said.

Livia clenched her teeth so hard it felt like they’d crumble. With a cry, she charged at him, swinging her sword in a wide arc, aiming for his neck.

He redirected it with a nonchalant move of his hand. It threw her off balance, and she almost fell. When she regained her footing, he stood still, not moving in for the strike.

“Both hands,” he merely said.

Not listening, Livia charged again, swinging at his temple.

This time, he deflected her blow. It took her off guard, and the force of the impact yanked the sword from her grasp. She lost her footing and actually fell this time. He still didn’t attack.

“Both hands,” he repeated.

Gritting her teeth, Livia stood up and carefully walked to where her sword landed, never letting her opponent out of sight. She picked up her blade and decided to try it out: she grasped the hilt with both hands. It immediately became easier to hold the blade in place, to move it, and to direct it.

She charged in yet again, this time swinging from the other side, aiming for his ribs. He deflected her blow once again, but this time it didn’t feel so grievous. She managed to keep both her footing and her sword. Recovering, she swung to his shoulder. He caught her chop and let it harmlessly slide down the length of the rod. Before she could assume her stance again, the tip of the rod was only a span away from her throat. They stood still for a few moments; Livia too afraid to move and he with no intent to move. Finally, she mustered the courage to try a feint, and swung at the rod.

He moved it out of the way of her blade and back with a flick of the wrist. When her swing was finished, the rod was still aimed at her throat.

She tried it again, and again. Both times he’d move it only far enough for her to narrowly miss. Finally, she decided to aim at him. He parried her blow and pushed her away in one move. Enraged, she transitioned into a fierce flurry of jabs, cuts and chops. He met all of them, seemingly narrowly, but there was no fear or rush in his eyes. Only focus. She was playing by his rules. After a minute, Livia found herself sweating despite the cold. Her breathing was heavy, and her heart pounded like a drum. He was as calm and fresh as when they started.

“Swing,” he said. “Don’t flail.”

This was the final straw for Livia. He treated her as if she were a child; he treated their duel as a lesson, or a joke. Screaming, she firmly grasped her sword and focused all her strength into a vicious overhead chop. She expected that he’d block or parry again, but she expected that the sheer force of her impact would cut the rod in half, hopefully along with his ugly face.

She didn’t expect that he’d move

He dodged her blow with a grace she didn’t expect from a man of his size, moving to side just as her blade struck. Too late she saw what was behind him: an old downed tree trunk. Her sword lodged itself deeply into the wood. Immediately, she tried to pull it out; it wouldn’t budge.

She also didn’t expect that he’d attack.

The rod struck her on the rear with enough force to send her face first over the log. She collided with the cold, hard ground and snowy grass. Her rear felt as if it was on fire on a narrow stripe where she was whipped.

Creak behind her. She rolled on her back, and immediately regretted it when her butt struck the ground. She jolted in pain, but immediately tried to scamper away: Gareth had yanked the sword out of the log and was pointing it at her.

It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t pointing it at her: he was looking down the blade, checking for kinks and scratches. Having apparently found none, he took the sword in reverse grip and rushed over to Thanael, who was sitting with her face buried in her knees. Through a veil of gathering tears, Livia could see that she was shaking, and listening attentively, she could hear her sobbing. As she watched, Gareth knelt next to her, embraced her, and told her something that Livia couldn’t hear. When she raised her face, Livia saw that her eyes were red and her cheeks wet with tears. He kept talking to her, and Livia could make out a “it’ll all be fine”. Thanael suddenly hugged him back, and Livia could hear him grunt in discomfort. He gently pried her away from him, and went back to Livia.

She sat where she fell, not standing up. He drove her sword into the ground next to her.

“We start at sunrise,” he simply announced before walking away to the other side of the fire and collapsing onto the ground without removing his armour or cloak.

Livia stood up, pulled the sword out of the dirt, and returned it to its sheath. Only now did she realize just how sore she really was. She tried to stretch out her muscles, but she could hardly feel them over the combined numbness of cold and effort, so she gave up. She looked for Thanael, but the other woman was nowhere to be found. Her eyes moved to Gareth. He was already fast asleep.

Sighing, she wrapped herself in her cloak and tried her best to follow his example, but it just wasn’t meant to be as easy. She was cold, smarting all over, and angry. Angry at the humiliation she was just afforded. But it wasn’t yet over, no. She’d have the last laugh, as she always did. Comforting herself with these thoughts, she managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

It was still dark when she woke up. With noticeable effort, she crawled up to her feet and stretched her arms. She felt as stiff and cold as a corpse. Gareth was already up, kneeling on the ground and choking the last dying embers with snow. He looked surprisingly well rested for someone who slept clad in leather and metal. He noticed her getting up and stood up as well.

“You’re awake.” She immediately noticed his voice reverted back to his previous warmth. “Good. Saddle up your horse and we’ll be off.”

She did as she was told with no argument. But as she was fiddling with the saddlebag rope, she noticed something that mildly alarmed her.

“Where’s the touchy one?” she asked, and immediately regretted that when he turned to her, his expression unamused. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked up to the treetops, going from one to another.

“You’re going to love this one,” he said as a playful smirk found its way on his face. He walked towards the tallest of the trees and gestured for her to follow him. She complied, too confused to do anything else. When she stood about a spear’s reach away, he lifted his foot and stomped on the trunk.

A few birds took flight, chirping. A handful of needles and a few pinecones spilled to the forest floor. And something moaned in disagreement. It took Livia a few seconds to process it was human.

Gareth couldn’t help to laugh out loud as he watched her dumbfounded expression. Her eyes moved between the treetop and him, as if still grasping what just happened. Finally, she slowly lifted her hand and pointed towards the treetop.

“You… you mean to tell me,” she stuttered, “that she’s… up there?”

He nodded, still smiling.

Livia looked at Gareth without her usual contempt; this time she was solely confused, rather than annoyed. “She... sleeps in trees?”

Gareth nodded, still grinning.

Livia mouthed a question, but was stopped by Gareth yelling up into the trees branches.

“Thani!” he started. “Get a move on, we’ve got ground to cover!”

Very briefly, as the call faded away as an echo into the trees, they both heard a rustling above them, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping and a short sharp yelp of surprise as a blur or black and silver plummeted to the ground near where Gareth stood, landing with an amazing amount of elegance for someone correcting their fall mid-flight. She landed on her feet, but slipped on the hoar-encrusted ground, and landed on her back with a resounding thump.

Gareth looked over at Thanael as she lay prostrate and groaning on the ground. “Graceful,” he commented.

“Thanks,” came the quiet reply. Thanael pulled herself up, steadily pulling a hand up to scratch at her head, taking a slightly wheezing breath before her eyes flicked to Livia. “Morning,” she said with a sheepish chuckle.

Gareth couldn’t help but suppress a smile himself as his friend got to her feet, looking between Livia’s bemused expression and knitted brows and Thanael’s clear attempt to not look silly in front of the girl who she’d so far failed to impress as she’d hoped.

“Never seen someone sleep on a tree before?” Thani asked, offering the warmest smile she could possibly muster.

Livia looked her up and down for a moment, before her face settled in a scowl, at her usual unimpressed way. “No,” she eventually said, before turning on her heel and sloping off back to camp at a brisk walk.

Thanael’s shoulders immediately drooped and the smile flew away from her face, leaving her immediately dejected.

Gareth felt a pang of sympathy and closed the distance between them, looping an arm around her shoulders. “You can’t win them all, Thani,” he said.

“I just-” she faltered, her voice as confused as it was upset. “I don’t understand her.”

Gareth smiled sadly and hugged her tighter to him for a moment, before letting her go with one last pat on the shoulder. “You will, eventually. You’re trying your best with her; it’ll yield something eventually.”

This seemed to brighten her up a bit, and she sauntered away to saddle Sieglind.

“Does she always do that?” Gareth turned to face Livia, who’d finally managed to secure her saddle bags. He shrugged. “I won’t pretend to know everything that goes on inside her head. I don’t think anyone does, really. But yes: she’s done it as long as I’ve know her. Probably longer.”

“And the people back in the castle don’t notice it?”

“Oh they do,” he said as he saddled his own raven with a speed of someone who has done this a thousand times. “But nobody really cares. We’ve all seen weirder. She has her own room in the castle, but she doesn’t have a bed there; just some furniture.”

Livia shrugged and got back to saddling her own girdan.

The sky was just starting to grey over the Velothi mountains when they resumed their trip. Several hours later, they caught sight of Ilinstead’s roofs. The settlement was moderately large, but it was by no means a sleeping town: even from the distance, they could hear the clamour of hundreds of voices.

Livia gasped in surprise when they finally made it out of the forest, and to the gate: not only were the streets and the surrounding area full of people, but it wasn’t just Nords: she saw Cyrods, Redguards, Bosmer, Dunmer, Bretons, even several Khajiiti, who sat in front of their caravan carriages, loudly advertising their wares. Market stalls and mismatched tents spread out as far as the eye could see. All manner of goods were displayed for sale: exotic fruits and meats from Morrowind, bolts of smooth fabric and elegant jewellery from Sentinel, strong-smelling spices and dyes from Daggerfall, robust armaments from Orsinium, and so much more. Livia couldn’t stop looking around in awe, even when they tied their horses outside the palisade.

“First time in Ilinstead?” asked Gareth, amused at her expression. She nodded, still looking around in amazement. A particular Khajiit with blue stripes painted on his face caught her attention. He smiled, and tossed her an apple. She caught it with surprise: it was still fresh, red as blood, and smelled divine. She was just about to take a bite when Gareth yanked it out of her hand. She watched in disappointment as he tossed the apple back to the merchant, who apparently shared Livia’s disposition on the matter. She turned to the man, who was glaring daggers at the Khajiit. His gaze dropped to the girl.

“You’d be wise never to take something that a Khajiit offers you for free,” he said. “It’s never free.” He gently patted her on the shoulder to signal her to move on. She did, but she still couldn’t peel her eyes from all the sights: she grew up in a small village, far away from anything so exciting, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Thanael appeared as they made their way through the loud mass. She was carrying a paper cone filled with chilled raspberries. “Ilinstead is a new settlement,” she said, popping a raspberry into her mouth. “Four years ago, there was only a barren, rocky field here. That is, until the High Queen noticed the importance of the trade routes that intersected here and commanded a Illinstead to be built. It is now the greatest trading hub in the south and the fifth greatest one in whole Skyrim, only behind Solitude, Windhelm, Whiterun, and Strondfjall.” By the time she finished speaking, the raspberry cone was empty.

Livia only nodded, still taking in the sights. They soon made their way to the largest building in the town that wasn’t a warehouse.

“Thane Black-Briar’s home,” Gareth explained. Livia frowned.

“Weren’t Black-Briars wiped out in Rift’s Purge?” she asked.

“Not all of them,” said Gareth. “Lady Ingun’s son, Hunferth, was left untouched. I suppose nobody wanted the blood of a small child on their hands. And looking back, it was a good call: the lad is a genius when it comes to business, and he’s still only seventeen. Keeps both his grandmother’s meadery and this whole thanedom in order.”

As they approached the door, Gareth pulled out his medallion and gently rubbed the face emblazoned on its surface. Livia didn’t miss it, but it truly drew here attention when she saw the face’s emerald eyes glow.

“What was that for?” she asked.

Gareth stuffed the amulet back into his clothes. “You’ll see,” he said with a smile.

Two guards that flanked the door crossed their halberds when they approached.

“What business do you have here?” asked the taller one, eyeing them carefully.

“We are the members of the Order, whom your Thane has hired to solve your draugr problem,” responded Thanael.

The tall one tilted his brow. “Three of you?” he puzzled.

“Two hunters,” said Gareth. “And an apprentice.”

“How can I know you’re who you claim to be?” asked the shorter one.

Instead of response, Thanael tilted her head, revealing a small wolf tattoo at the base of her neck. The guards relaxed and uncrossed their weapons. “You may proceed,” said the taller one. “But make no trouble.” He pushed the door open and the trio entered.

The inside of the building was surprisingly ascetic. While it was completely furnished, the pieces were purely functional and plain, despite obviously being well made. No paintings or tapestries decorated the walls, and no statues were to be seen. Instead, rows upon rows of shelves, covered in books, dominated the house’s flanks. Most of them were historical or fictional, but some of them were more practical: law books and codes. There was no trace of dust or stains anywhere, and all the furniture was neatly aligned. Near the end of the main chamber, opposite of a burning fireplace, stood a large desk, almost completely covered in scrolls, ledgers, inkwells, quills and single small anvil made out of cast iron: a shrine to Zenithar. And a single man sitting at the desk, hastily scribbling at a sheath of parchment.

Hunferth’s appearance made him almost seem a part of the room: dressed in simple and functional clothing, and wearing no jewellery save for a simple signet ring. He was slim to the point of gauntness, clean shaven and wore his hair short. Upon hearing them enter, he raised his gaze from the papers in front of him.

“What business do you have with me?” he said. His tone was fast and sharp: the voice of a man who didn’t enjoy wasting time.

“We’re hunters from the Order,” said Gareth. “This is my partner Thanael Emberstar and my apprentice Livia. We’ve come here as you’ve requested.” Livia immediately noticed he failed to introduce himself. Hunferth apparently did not, but he relaxed.

“Ah, welcome,” he said, smiling. He gestured to set of chairs opposite of his desk and they sat.

“I trust you’re tired from your trip,” he started, “so I won’t bother you with long speeches and arduous details.”

“With all due respect, Master Thane,” started Gareth, “arduous details can sometimes mean all the difference. Please, tell us everything.”

Hunferth stared quizzically at the other man for a few moments, as if trying to remember something he never knew. “Very well, then.” He reached under his desk and pulled out four pewter cups and a bottle of red wine. “May I offer you some West Weald?” he inquired. “If we’re going to talk, we may as well not do it cotton-mouthed.” Gareth and Livia nodded. Thanael shook her head. Hunferth poured three cups, put the bottle down, and personally carried the cups to Livia and Gareth. He then leaned on his desk and crossed his legs.

“A month ago,” he started, “a local by the name or Airia stumbled on a deposit of corundum. She reported her discovery to the guild of metalworkers that same day. It was decided that it would be less expensive to mine the ore and produce it ourselves than to import it from elsewhere. Two days later, the operation was in full swing.” He briefly paused to take a sip of wine and continued. “The deposit turned out to be surprisingly rich, and in a fortnight, we had a small mine already. The diggers also discovered a deposit of iron and a small vein of silver, and doubled their efforts. I suppose that their eagerness to find more blinded them. One of them, a usually decent fellow named Baldir, happened upon a wall, and instead of reporting it, decided it would be better to just break through it. Unfortunately, it was a wall to an ancient crypt, and the commotion woke up the draugr interred there. Three of the workers, including Baldir, were killed. Two more were snatched and are now counted dead too. The rest ran like Dagon himself was at their heels. When they returned to the town and told us their tale, an immediate conference of the guildmasters and merchants was called. Some voted for the abandonment of the operation, but it was decided in the end that the crypt should be cleared out and the missing workers recovered if possible: though I personally doubted that their intentions were so noble. That was five days ago, when we sent a request for aid to your order.”

Only the crackling of a fire was heard for good ten seconds.

“How many draugr were there?” asked Gareth.

“Workers reported; and I quote,” started Hunferth, “‘bout a dozen’”. He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you a more detailed count.”

“Did the draugr attempt an attack on the village?”

“They didn’t,” responded Hunferth. “For whatever reason, they don’t seem to wish to leave the crypt. But they will attack anyone who dares into the mine.”

“We’ll need oil,” spoke Thanael. “Could you spare a keg?”

“If that’s what you need to clear them out, I can spare ten,” spoke Hunferth.

“One’ll be enough, thank you,” said Thanael. She paused. “Where is the entrance to the mine?”

“It’s down by the lake,” said Hunferth. “I’ll have a guard escort you down to it come morrow. But for today, please stay as my guests. Finding lodgings in the inns would be difficult enough if the fair wasn’t to take place in a few days, and I can guarantee you that my hospitality exceeds that of any inkeep.”

All three eagerly accepted. Hunferth smiled and rubbed his hands.

“Excellent!” he said. He put his cup down and clapped three times, to which two smiling servant girls came in hurriedly.

“Bring out some extra cutlery, ladies,” he said. “We’ll be having guests for dinner tonight.” The girls bowed and quickly rushed in the direction of what Gareth assumed was the kitchen.

“Well, I think I did about enough work for today,” said Hunferth. He picked up his cup again and gestured the three to follow him.

The dinner was as plain as everything else about Hunferth: boar chops and boiled potatoes with rich Cyrodiilic gravy. But after the unseasoned vermin they ate yesterday, they were more than thankful to take what they were given. What surprised them was that Hunferth apparently ate with his servants. Gareth opened the subject soon enough.

“Surprised that a Black-Briar would be so humble?” asked Hunferth. “You could say that I was taught by experience on the dangers of luxury.” As he spoke, his gaze trailed away in the distance. “Greed, my friends,” he started, “is the root of all evil. And sooner or later, it comes to collect its due. Greed killed my grandmother, who thought herself untouchable and above the laws of man. And yet, all her wealth didn’t save her from the angry mob when the queen declared the Black-Briars to be outlaws. My uncles, even my mother, who was mostly innocent: all followed her into the grave that day. An entire guild, who was more powerful than ever before, reduced to almost nothing before the sun set. All because they got too greedy for their own good; and reached out to take a salmon from bear’s jaws.” The entire table was silent. Hunferth took a long swig from his cup. “I’ve long since promised myself to live as any other man would. Being a Black-Briar doesn’t make me any better than them.” He gestured to the servants that sat lower at the table. “Only when I am old and frail and my children succeed me, shall I allow myself some luxury – as a payment for my service in youth.”

Gareth was silent. Thanael was choking back tears, visibly touched. Livia looked at their host as if he were a lunatic.

Hunferth’s expression suddenly brightened. “But even now, I will spare no expense when it comes to drink,” he said, signalling to one of the servants to hand him a pitcher. He poured himself another cup of aromatic liquid and set down the jug. “Wine and brandy from Colovia, rum from Stros M’kai, flin from Blacklight, mead from both my own and the Honningbrew meadery.” He raised his cup in toast. “One other thing I learned is that there is no worse way to ruin a day than with a bad liquor.”

After dinner, they were escorted to their room. It was a relatively spacious, but mostly empty chamber that more resembled a barrack than a guest room. As soon as the servant who escorted them was away, Thanael opened the window and hopped out, no doubt eager to find a suitable tree to spend the night in, leaving Livia and Gareth alone. After wishing her a good night and telling her to get plenty of sleep, Gareth dropped on a bed and passed out. But Livia was too nervous to sleep. She impatiently waited for the morning, eager to face the draugr and prove once and for all that she was better than what they thought. She sat in silence for several minutes, pondering her options, and then made her decision. Getting out of bed as silently as possible, she put on her boots, strapped on her sword, and climbed out the window, making sure to create as little sound as possible, despite the ever-present clamour from the streets.

She made her way through the raring masses, to the south-east gate. Arriving there, she was elated to find no guards. But she soon realized it meant that she couldn’t open the gates, which were held in place by a massive wooden latch, too large and heavy for her to move herself. No matter: she’d simply scale the palisades and-

“Oy! Wha’re you doing down there?”

Livia froze as if kissed by a wispmother. She slowly turned around to come face to face with a rapidly approaching guard in a very foul mood. She swallowed her spit.

“You some kind of burglar, lass?” he asked. “Speak quickly before I skewer you like roast.” he emphasized his words by tapping the bottom of his halberd on the ground.

Livia did her best to hide her panic. This wasn’t going according to plan. But she managed to calm herself down. This man was just a simple guard. Just a yokel with a sharp stick. She’d met plenty of his kind before. She could talk her way out of this.

She straightened up and frowned. “I’m one of the monster hunters,” she said. “I was sent to scout ahead.” She almost congratulated herself for her quick thinking before seeing the guard frown.

“The wouldn't send no scouts durin’ the night,” he said. “And even if they did, this gate doesn’t open until dawn. Thane’s orders.”

Well that didn’t work, thought Livia. Time to reach for alternative means.

Doing her best to put some sway in her hips, she took a few steps towards the guard, smiling seductively and reaching up to unlace her blouse.

The guard stuck his halberd towards her with a speed of arrow. “Keep yer distance and keep yer hands where I can see them!”

Alarmed, Livia stepped back, raising both her hand in a defensive gesture. Seven Curses!

Slowly, she reached for her belt, and took off her coinpurse. She tossed it to the guard. He caught it, looking confused.

“There’s twenty one Haralds inside, and they’re yours: just let me out,” said Livia pleadingly.

The guard’s frown deepened. He seemed to weigh the situation. Finally, he attached the purse to his belt.

“You take all responsibility, and you’re back in an hour,” he commanded.

Livia nodded vigorously, overjoyed that her plan worked. The guard unlocked the side door, and let her out. She rushed off in the direction of the lake without looking back.

She couldn’t help but laugh as she felt the cold air beat her face. What she gave to the guard was all the money she had: but if fortune would have it, she’d be able to loot twice as much from the crypt. And even more, she’d be able to return with useful information. She could almost imagine the faces of Gareth and Thanael when she returned; the praise and the apologies. The thoughts invigorated her, and she ran faster.

Under the light of the full moon, the frozen surface of Ilinalta gleamed like a giant mirror, casting bluish light for hundreds of paces of snow-covered ground around it. It was truly a marvellous sight. And in that light, Livia soon discovered what she was after: a mining shaft, darker than the night surrounding it. She quickly adjusted her route and sprinted to it.

She was out of breath when she finally reached it. The inside was pitch black, reminiscent of the jaws of some mythical creature. She looked around for anything to fix that issue, and lucked upon a cast away lantern. With some effort, she managed to light it, casting grim shadows against the walls.

As she slowly made her way down, something pecked at her mind. Something that Gareth told her about the dark and the monster hunters. But she quickly put it to rest: if it were important, she’d have remembered it already.

She silently made her way thought the shaft, going past shattered rock and discarded mining gear. She couldn’t help but feel contempt to the miners: all of them grown up, and no doubt strong as oxen from picking at rocks all day. All ran away like hatchlings, and before what? A handful of shuffling husks? She suppressed a snort and went deeper in. And there it was: the ancient wall, scarred with pick marks, with a large hole in the middle. The entrance to the crypt. She pulled out her sword and stepped through.

Instantly, she felt a change. The air here was much warmer, and smelled like decay, fatty candles, and something else that she couldn’t quite place: some sort of liquor. She moved forward more carefully, until something made her freeze in her tracks. Sounds, dead ahead. Throaty, hoarse voices; chattering of teeth; clinking of metal. They were there. She put the lantern down and crouched towards them. A pile of ruined stone in front of her made for excellent cover. She stopped behind it and peaked over.

They weren’t quite like she imagined them. They were clearly undead, yes, but they didn’t look like dessicated corpses. They instead more resembled a dead body that was just about to start decaying. They were slightly slouched over, dressed in ancient armours of leather and thick iron straps, and one of them wore a robe covered in metal scales. Their eyes were black with red pupils, cold and lifeless. Save for the robed one, who was working on something on a raised platform, and two more who seemed to be there to assist him, they wandered about, seemingly aimlessly. She counted fifteen in total. Slowly, she lowered her head behind the cover.

It wasn’t so bad, she thought to herself. If they all took five each, they could do away with them no problem. But something caught her attention: in one niche, next to a wrapped corpse, stood a small strongbox. She barely managed to contain her squeal as she made her way to it. She knelt and tried to open it, and to her surprise, it opened without much effort. Inside, she found an assortment of useless trinkets: a broken bone comb, a vial filled with some resinous matter, a tuff of wool, a rusted iron fibula. Just as she was almost ready to set it down, her finger brushed something metallic. A brief inspection revealed it to be a ring, made out of gold, engraved, and topped with a reddish jewel. It seemed that this trip would pay off after all.

A cold hand suddenly clamped over her mouth. She dropped her sword and desperately tried to claw it away, but it wouldn’t move. Her screams were lost in the long dead flesh, the smell of which twisted her stomach. Her heart beat like a drum as she kicked and clawed and squirmed, desperate to free herself. Then something struck her in the temple. The world went black and quiet, and she knew no more.

\---

When she came back, she first realized that she was laid down on a cold stone dais. She then realized that she couldn’t move. She was tied down... no, worse: she was wrapped up, wrapped in the same linens as that corpse that she’d tried to burgle. She tried to scream, but found that she was gagged. She tried to move her head, and gratefully found that she could. But in the same moment, that thankfulness evaporated.

Left of her was a young man, wrapped as she was. But he didn’t look nearly as well: his eyes were glazed over, his skin was greyish, and streams of amber-like liquid poured out of his mouth, nostrils, and eyes. But the worst was his chest, that was still moving. Whatever they did to him, he was still alive.

Her scream was again lost in the leather strap in her mouth. She jolted, trying to free herself. If she could just wiggle off the dais she’d be able to escape. A snarl next to her ear put a stop to her attempts. Slowly, she turned hear head, frightened at what she’d see.

He was even uglier up close. His breath stank of decay. His eyes, she noticed, weren’t as lifeless as she first thought. They were full of primal hate and malice. As she watched in horror, he turned away and barked something in some guttural language. Immediately, three more appeared. Before she could do anything, they all grabbed her. She recoiled in disgust, but their dead arms were deceptively strong. They held her down like iron chains, and she couldn’t budge. Then one more appeared, carrying what looked like a war horn. Before she could think what he was going to do with it, he inserted the tip into her nostril. Here eyes widened in fear. She tried to shake it out, but he held her head in place with his other hand. Then the culmination of horror came into her view: the robed one was coming her way, flanked by two others. He was carrying a stone vessel. As he approached, the smell of the liquor she felt earlier became stronger.

Her heart started to race erratically as she realized the purpose of the horn. Her thoughts rushed to the man next to her, his lifeless visage, and the liquid that leaked out of his orifices. Burning tears streamed down her face, but the gag denied her crying: all she could muster were muffled squeals of pure terror. No, no no no. Talos! Mara! Stendarr! Help! Someone! Please! No, not like this! The robed one raised the vessel and began chanting. No. No no no no NO!

A bolt of flame struck the robed one on the hood. In a rush to try and pat it out, he spilled the liquid over himself. It burst into fire, turning him into a living, screeching inferno. The others backed away from him in palpable fear.

“LIVIAAA!”

As one, the draugr turned towards the source of the voice and as one, they let go of her, brandishing their weapons, and rushed. Free from their oppressive grasp, Livia shook the horn out, and turned her head towards the entrance.

Gareth and Thanael were charging forward, swords in one hand, torches in the other. They collided with the draugr like two rivers, knocking a few down. Livia saw Thanael cleave through the chest of one of the draugr, immediately crumpling it to the floor. Ignoring the others, she threw down her torch and rushed towards Livia, blindly swinging at the undead trying to block her path. Lopping the head off a a draugr who positioned himself between them, she picked Livia up like a doll, and carried her away through the sea of growls, metal, and rotting stench.

Thanael put her down behind the same pile she used to hide herself earlier. She grabbed the linen that wrapped her just below Livia’s chin and tore at it, ripping it apart with her bare hands. In not time at all, she tore enough of it that Livia could pull herself out.

“Thani-” she started, but was interrupted by Thanael putting a finger into her nostril. Before she could register it, Thanael pulled it out, briefly glanced at it, and put it into her other nostril. She did the same with both her ears, and finally with her mouth. It was only then that Livia realized she was checking for the mysterious liquid that the priest was about to pour into her. Having found none, Thanael loudly sighed in relief.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice cracking. Livia nodded. “Stay here,” she commanded, before vaulting over the pile and rejoining the fray.

Livia scanned the floor for her sword: it was where she dropped it. She picked it up, ready to defend herself. It then occurred to her that she’d never seen Gareth fight for real or Thanael at all. She remembered what Gareth told her about not engaging, and only watching and learning, and peeked over the barricade.

To her right, Gareth held his sword horizontally. The draugr that surrounded him kept their distance. One broke away and attacked. Gareth met his blow, let it slide, and spun around, striking the draugr’s exposed neck in one swift move. Livia didn’t even see the blade connect, yet the draugr fell, coagulated blood gathering on his nape like hot jam. Gareth immediately moved in to attack another one, who raised his sword in defence. In a split second, Gareth’s blade changed direction by only a bit, sliding under the hilt of the other sword and cutting a long, seemingly shallow gash in the draugr’s stomach. The draugr stumbled, which gave Gareth just enough time to drive the tip of his sword through its throat.

She watched and understood: his style was fast and precise, made for dealing small, accurate, and lethal wounds.

On her left, Thanael did the exact opposite. There was little finesse in her swings. But she compensated for it with sheer strength. Livia watched, transfixed, as the other woman’s heavy broadsword swung down, severing an arm of a draugr that moved in for the attack. Instead of stopping there, Thanael allowed the momentum to carry her, and made a half-turn, allowing her blade to swoop upwards, into the chin of another draugr, who planned to strike her from the rear. The helmet flew into the air as his head split in two. Still moving, Thanael performed another half-turn, bringing her sword in a diagonal slash that tore open a chest of another would-be assailant. It wasn’t clear who was in charge here: the swordsman or the sword.

She watched and understood: her style was strong and unstoppable, made simply to destroy and dismember.

And she couldn’t decide which made more sense.

Rustling to her left. A door that she hadn’t even noticed before crumbled, and a massive draugr ran into the chamber. He was the size of a tall Altmer and built like a bear, clad in iron from head to heel, wielding a sword that glinted wickedly in the dim light of the crypt. Dispatching the last draugr next to her, Thanael engaged the giant.

The duel was evenly matched: Thanael was faster, but the draugr made up for it in sheer size and the quality of his armaments. She couldn’t penetrate his armour, and he couldn’t land a blow on her. Wherever their blades collided, sparks flew into the air. Suddenly, Thanael let go of her sword, and pointed both her hands at the draugr. She whispered a word, and an icy mist gathered at her palms, out of which a massive icicle shot out. It struck the giant in his right hip, and he fell to his knee. Smiling, Thanael picked up her sword and charged. Halfway through, she stopped. Livia didn’t understand why until she saw the draugr’s chest inflate. She immediately knew something was wrong: the undead didn’t need to breathe. Suddenly, a loud hiss echoed the chamber.

“ _Fus…_ ”

Thanael’s eyes widened.

“Gareth, down!” she yelled as she threw herself behind the barricade. Gareth had just enough time to disarm the last remaining draugr, jump behind the barricade himself, and push Livia down as the giant finished his sentence.

“ _Ro Dah!_ ”

It was as if all he air was sucked from the chamber. Even from behind the barricade, Livia felt a wave of unseen force fly past them. The last remaining draugr didn’t even have the time to turn: the force struck him, sending him flying like a leaf in the strong wind, straight into the support pillars, who broke under the combined assault. A minor quake shook the crypt as rocks came crashing down, burying the entrance. The air was full of dust.

“Why the _fuck_ did there have to be a Tongue!?” yelled Gareth, suddenly in a very foul mood. He seemed more concerned about the enemy they faced than the fact that they were all just buried alive.

“It gets worse,” said Thanael, pointing her finger to the opposite end of the room. “Look.”

Four new draugr, awakened by the Tongue’s display of power had walked into a chamber while they were down. A small consolation, but the one struck with the force didn’t rise on the account of his upper half being buried in rocks each the size of a toddler.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Gareth. “You finish the big one, Thani.” Thanael nodded, and they both leaped over the barricade and engaged their enemies once again.

Livia couldn’t look away from Thanael and the massive Tongue. The girl fought her damnest, slashing, parrying, dodging, riposting. But suddenly, she fell. Livia suppressed a scream. She didn’t see what happened, and yet the girl was laying on the floor, sprawled, waiting for her enemy to finish her.

She acted before she could think. Vaulting over the barricade, she charged the Tongue, and drove the sword into small unprotected area where the plates met on his back with a shout. She missed, and the sword struck plate. It slid away, and penetrated the side, where no vital organs were.

Swift as a cobra, the Tongue turned around. The force of his movement ripped Livia’s sword from her grasp, and threw her on the floor. Downed, she watched the giant approach her, her sword, which apparently didn’t hurt him at all, sticking out of his stomach. He raised his own blades and brought it down.

“NO!”

A flash of silver, and Thanael stood between them. She caught the blow and redirected it. It flew dangerously close to her stomach. Carried by momentum, the Tongue was forced to lean. With a scream, Thanael brought her sword diagonally up striking the Tongue on the side of the head.

It was a grievous blow: the blade cut clean through the metal, flesh and bone, and emerged on the other side. Half of draugr’s head flew into the air along with a piece of helmet, before crashing to the floor with a resounding thud and rolling away. The giant stumbled, and then fell onto what was left of his face.

Gareth. Livia turned to him, just in time to see him kick the last remaining draugr off of his sword. He leaned to the wall, breathing heavily. And Thanael didn’t lag behind: her breath was as tasked as if she just ran up the Throat of the World. She turned to Livia.

“Are you alright?” she asked. But Livia didn’t answer. She was staring wide-eyed at her abdomen.

“What’s wrong, Livia?” asked Gareth. He then noticed her horrified expression. Both him and Thanael looked down at the same time.

A large crimson stain was steadily growing on the torn black leather of Thanael’s cuirass. The silver plates on her skirt were already glistening red.

Livia’s eyes shot to the Tongue’s corpse: she only now noticed that the tip of his sword was bloody. Her eyes then shot back to Thanael, who placed a palm on her belly and winced. When she removed it, it was stained red. A single surprised “oh” was all that she could muster before falling on her back.

The scream that Livia was holding back finally found its way out.


	3. The Burial

“Hold it tight, don’t let go.”

Livia only nodded, choking back tears, as warm blood poured over her hands. The wound didn’t seem horribly deep, but it was wide, and it was bleeding profusely. Thanael’s breathing was accelerated, and she shivered like a leaf in the breeze.

“Damn it!” Livia raised her gaze to Gareth. His breathing was picking up the pace as he dug through his pouch, evidently searching for a healing potion, but didn’t seem to find any strong enough. His eyes momentarily flashed as he pulled out a small bottle, but it was just a stamina potion. With a wordless shout, he flung it to the floor. It shattered, splashing beige liquid and glass grains everywhere. Livia winced.

Gareth clenched his fist and slowly took in a deep breath. He then rummaged through the pouch again, before producing another, much smaller bottle; this one was filled with red liquid. He kneeled next to Thanael’s shivering body, and uncorked it. The air filled with a smell similar to wheat porridge. Gently, he lifted Thanael’s head, and pushed the vial to her lips.

“Thani, if you can hear me, drink this,” he said. Whether she heard him or not, her lips parted, accepting the watery liquid. She swallowed, and started coughing violently. The blood started pouring more strongly, and Livia pressed the wound in panic.

“Don’t push,” Gareth commanded. His face was stern like a marble statue: the expression that left no place to non-compliance. “Keep the pressure, but don’t push. You’ll only hurt her further.”

Livia obliged, and in a few minutes, the bleeding slowed down, and finally stopped at a mere trickle. Thanael stopped shaking, and her breathing normalized. Gareth sighed in relief. He pulled out another identical vial and handed it to Livia.

“Rub it into the wound,” he instructed her. “Gently. Don’t leave her side.”

Livia nodded, and tried to uncork the vial, but her hands shook too much, and her bloodied fingers slid off the cork repeatedly. Noticing her struggle, Gareth took the vial, uncorked it himself, and handed it back to her, before rushing to the nearest draugr. Livia watched as he grabbed the corpse’s feet and started dragging it away.

“Livia, there’s no time to waste,” he warned when he saw her looking. She snapped back and focused on the woman before her. She poured a few drops of potion on her fingers and tried to gently massage it into the cut. She worked fast, fully aware of what was at stake.

And also fully aware that it was all her fault.

Pouring out the last few remaining drops, she discarded the vial. The bleeding stopped completely now, and the wound looked a little less bad, but it was still open, and Livia only now became aware that she was kneeling in a puddle of blood. Her eyes filled with tears anew.

Footsteps behind her: she turned. Gareth was hurriedly pacing towards them through a now surprisingly empty chamber.

“How is she?” he asked, kneeling next to them. Livia was about to say ‘fine’ when she became aware of the stupidity of that statement: nobody who lost that much blood could possibly be fine. Tears welled up in her eyes again, pushing the ones already present into streams down her cheeks. Gareth gently stroked Thanael’s cheek. Her closed eyelids twitched, and her head moved slightly. Gareth stopped and waited. She took in a long, taxed breath.

“Bad raspberries,” she moaned. “Stomach aches.”

Gareth’s lips curled into a broken smile. He let out a pained chuckle before leaning down and kissing her forehead. Livia didn’t know what to say.

“Will she live?” she asked sheepishly.

Gareth looked at her sombrely. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Her bleeding stopped, but she already lost so much blood. And we didn’t bring any potions big enough: figured we’d have her to cover for that. Then there’s also the draugr issue.”

“What do you mean ‘draugr issue’?” asked Livia. “You took them out.”

“We took them down,” Gareth corrected, “but not out. Those that she took out, maybe. But the ones I cut down will be back up soon enough.”

Livia gasped. “How?”

Gareth crossed his legs. “Forget all you think you know about the draugr. They aren’t true undead, like wraiths or zombies. They were once men, cursed for their misdeeds never to know the peace of death. And so, no weapon can kill them: iron and steel are useless, and so are most others. Dwemer metal, silver, and ebony can temporarily disrupt the dark magic that keeps them alive. But eventually, it sets back in its flow, and they rise again.”

Livia felt her pulse quicken. Her head shot back to see if any were rising, only to remember that they were all gone.

“I dragged them away to a side chamber and set up what barricades I could,” Gareth explained. “The only way to make sure they stay dead is to burn them. But we didn’t bring any oil with us, and candles aren’t strong enough. We can only wait here to be rescued.”

Livia felt tears well up in her eyes again. She leaped to her feet, suddenly angry. “Why didn’t you bring any, then!?” she screamed.

Gareth shot up, and Livia immediately regretted raising her voice. Bathed in the pale candlelight, her master’s visage was monstrous. But when he spoke, his voice was broken.

“Because we had to save you.”

He dropped back on the floor. “We didn’t expect that the tunnel would cave in. And even when it did, Thani could’ve just dug us out. But now…” He clenched his fists. “What were you thinking?”

Livia had trouble forcing the words out. “I… I just wanted to scout ahead-”

“Not that,” Gareth interrupted. “Why did you engage, when we specifically told you not to? If it weren’t for you, she would have won.”

Livia felt angry again. “She fell flat on her back!” she screamed. “He was about to kill her!”

“She fell _on purpose_ ,” Gareth snapped back. “She _never_ stays down for that long unless she wants to. I’ve seen her do it dozens of times, it’s a trick: when the opponent raises his weapon, his entire front is open. If she had a second more, she’d have gutted him like a fish.” He looked down into his hands. “She’s the best fighter I know,” he said silently.

As if she knew they were talking about her, Thanael squirmed. Her face contorted, and she moaned silently.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

“Her breathing is growing shallow,” Gareth noted. “She won’t last long.”

Livia finally broke. Tears that she struggled to hold back now broke loose, and she didn’t even try to stop them. She fell to her knees and cried. It was a wail of despair, regret, of burning sadness born out of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she pushed out through the tears, choking on her own words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-”

She was silenced by a pair of strong arms embracing her. Still sniffling, she embraced back.

“Regrets are useless,” a calm voice spoke in her ear. “There’s no point in expressing regret over what happened. We can’t change it. Instead, let it be a lesson to you, so you know not to repeat your mistakes.”

She sniffled, and broke down crying again. The arms embraced her more firmly. One patted her on the back.

She released the embrace and knelt next to Thanael’s body. Her skin, paler than usual, was breaking out in a sweat again. Livia dried her forehead with her sleeve. Thanael giggled silently.

“How did you know?” she suddenly asked. “That night, by the campfire. How did you know it was my fault?”

Gareth shifted, as if trying to find a softer spot on the floor. “I saw a snowberry bush,” he admitted.

Despite the gravity of a situation, Livia felt her face drop. “A snowberry bush?” she asked incredulously.

Gareth nodded. “Thani likes snowberries. Loves them, actually. Remind me to tell you about that time she picked the whole Pale clean one year.” He stopped for a moment. “I knew things didn’t go smoothly because the bush wasn’t picked clean by the time I came back, which is, let me tell you, unlikely to the point of impossible. Something had to happen very soon after I left to put her in a mood foul enough not to notice them. Since both of you seemed unharmed, all chores were done, and Thani didn’t have any bad news to report, I reasoned it was between you two.”

Livia knelt in silence. She didn’t know what to say. His logic was flawless.

Gareth stood up and walked up to the stone altar, apparently only now noticing the two wrapped men laying there.

“They’re hurt,” Livia said hurriedly. “The draugr did something to them, but they’re still alive. Can you help them?”

Instead of answering, Gareth ran his finger under the man’s nose. When he brought it to his face, it was stained with the amber liquid. He took a whiff and cringed. “Dinokaaz”, he mumbled. He reached to his belt and pulled out a dagger.

“What are you…?” started Livia, but before she could finish, Gareth lined the dagger’s edge with the man’s throat. Livia’s eyes widened.

“NO!”

The silent swish of the silvery blade was lost in her scream. But the sound of gurgling and choking was all too loud in the silence that ensued. Another one, and the body next to the first one squirted blood and the amber fluid on the wall.

“Why?” Livia pushed out, too numb to say anything else. Gareth wiped the blade off the fresh corpse’s linen wrap before returning it to scabbards.

“This,” he raised his stained finger to emphasize, “is Dinokaaz, or Death Water in common speech. Better known to scholars as the Draught of Living Death. Made from ingredients that aren’t yet fully known, and mixed with pure alcohol to prevent spoiling and increase dehydration.” He paused for breath and wiped the fluid on the linen. “Once enough of it gets into the body in any way, it’s over: the body’s senses will start numbing, the organs will start giving out, and soon enough, the victim will become more alike to a plant. At that point, it’s safe to remove most internal organs without killing the victim, like what they did to that fellow there.” He gestured to the second corpse, which was, as Livia now saw, almost completely disembowelled. Her stomach jumped into her throat. “After that, all that it takes is a bit of time and some ancient magic, and the man rises as a new draugr.” He walked back to his place on the floor. “These men were past saving. Believe me, I did them a favour.”

A shiver went down Livia’s spine. The knowledge of the fate that she narrowly avoided was something she could’ve very well done without.

All of a sudden, Thanael shook. Before Livia could even blink, she started convulsing, screaming incomprehensible words.

“Hold her down! Don’t let her move!” Gareth was already rushing towards them. Livia pushed down on Thanael’s shoulders, but it was far easier said than done: for someone just a bit taller than herself, the girl was monstrously strong. Livia could compare this to trying to hold down a rabid bear, maddened with pain. It felt as if the bones in her arm were going to snap like twigs. Even when Gareth arrived to help her, it wasn’t much easier. Livia barely dodged a kick in the head: she reckoned the concussion would be the very least she’d suffer.

Eventually, she calmed down. But the damage has already been done: both Livia and Gareth were sore and out of breath. Worse still, the wound on her stomach has seemingly opened again. It didn’t bleed much, but given the previous bloodloss, it didn’t even matter. And as an insult to injury, sounds started coming from the side chamber: the draugr were awakening.

“Well, ain’t that nice,” Gareth chuckled sardonically. He drew his sword and stood up. “What a divine birthday present.”

Livia barely registered what he said. Her thoughts were focused on the increasing amount of noise coming from behind the piled up crates and furniture. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She didn’t want to die. But she wiped them off. She picked up her sword and positioned herself between Thanael’s body and the barricade. A defiant frown settled on her face. She failed her master once. She would not do it again.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Both Gareth and Livia lost focus of the awakening draugr and turned towards the source of the sound. It came from the cave-in.

“Come on you lilies, faster!” a commanding voice rang out from behind the rock pile.

“Hunferth,” Gareth whispered. Livia felt her heart bloom.

“In here!” she bellowed as strongly as she could. “Hurry! We’re in here! She needs help!”

“You heard her! Faster!” A stone at the top of the pile vanished. Torchlight poured in through the crack.

Livia almost broke into tears again. But this time, it was from joy. They would be saved. Thani would live. Hell, they’d even complete their mission!

The rock pile finally collapsed, revealing several workers with picks, a half dozen guards, and Hunferth himself.

“Oil!” Gareth yelled before anyone could say anything. “Quick, where’s the oil!?”

A guard ran towards him, bringing a small barrel of about five quarts. Gareth took it from him, and rushed towards the barricaded arch just as something behind it started growling. He tossed it over the piled wood and it shattered and splashed on the other side. Not wasting a moment, Gareth grabbed a torch from another guard.

“Cover your ears!” he commanded. Livia immediately obliged. Not waiting to see if anyone else heard him, he flung the torch in the same direction before clasping his own ears.

Even through her palms, Livia could hear a cacophony of shrieks that ensued as soon as the light of the fire flashed. It sounded like someone put a choir of wispmothers into a sack filled with angry sabrecats. Something threw itself on the barricade, and it shook, but endured. A burning hand found its way through a crack and started clawing at a cupboard before falling lifeless a few seconds later.

After about a minute, Livia saw Gareth remove his hands from his ears and felt confident to do the same. She looked around. One of the workers vomited in the corner, with a guard standing next to him. Another guard massaged his temples, cussing under his breath.

“What the fuck was that?” the asked, a little louder than it was necessary. Livia immediately guessed that he didn’t cover his ears.

“That, officer!” responded Gareth just as loudly, coming to the same conclusion, “was the sound of ‘bout a dozen’ draugr burning to death! Music, innit!?”

He caught Hunferth’s gaze an they both chuckled. Livia stood in silence for a moment before deciding to join them. Then she remembered Thanael.

“Master Thane!” she called out, panicked. All heads turned towards her. “My master was grievously injured. She needs help!”

Hunferth turned to one of his guards. “Find van Bredevoort. Bring her now. If she refuses to get out, drag her here. Move.” The guard quickly saluted before running out. Hunferth himself knelt next to Thanael and positioned his hands over her abdomen. Faint blue light started emanating from his palms. Thanael groaned in relief and smiled.

Gareth smiled. “A Thane, a businessman, and a mage too?” he asked.

Hunferth chuckled. “To call me a mage would be like calling a drizzle a deluge. I can’t even light a common fire without flint and tinder,” he confessed. “But I did learn some restoration. Useful skill to have when first aid needs to be given.” Livia nodded in agreement.

Hunferth stood up. Livia noticed his hands were slightly shaking. “I did what I could,” he announced. “her fate is now in the hands of the Divines, at least until our healer arrives. Jorek!” he called out. One of the guards straightened up. Livia gasped: it was the same guard that let her out.

“This brave man,” started Hunferth theatrically, “was the one that brought it to my attention that you left. In all truth, it is him you should thank for your timely rescue. It would seem we arrived at the nick of time.” The guard called Jorek looked away, clearly considering himself unworthy of praise. Livia couldn’t blame him. If Hunferth found out that he’d accepted her bribe, he’d likely be looked on far less favourably.

“Which reminds me,” said Hunferth with a trace of accusation in his voice, “how _did_ you know where they went.”

Livia could see the growing unease in the guard’s eyes. Fortunately, Gareth stepped in before things could go south.

“I woke up at night to find my apprentice gone. I guessed where she went and roused my companion. We went after her, and Jorek here opened the door for us.”

“He willingly violated my order of opening the door before sunrise?” Hunferth questioned.

“That he did,” said Gareth. “But can you really blame him? As it turns out, our apprentice was in mortal danger. Had this man not let us out, or let us out a minute later, this young lady would have perished. This man broke the law for the greater good.”

“And how did this young lady find herself outside the walls?”

“I climbed over the palisade,” said Livia before Gareth could even start. The lie came easy to her, and her courage surprised her. “I found a place on the east part, waited for the guard to look away, and then climbed and jumped to the other side.”

Hunferth’s gaze locked with her own. Jorek looked amazed at the length she went to protect him.

“I see,” Hunferth said finally. “And yet, disobeying your master and sneaking away like that is a sign of deep disrespect, young lady.” He turned to Gareth. “I trust you’ll make sure that she’s adequately punished for her transgression.”

Gareth smiled bitterly. “With what transpired here, I’d say she’s been punished enough.”

Livia turned to the guard. “Thank you, master Jorek!” she squeaked, trying her best to sound like a sweet, relieved child. “We owe your our lives.”

Jorek looked at her, dumbfounded, before remembering to play along. “I’s only doing my duty, young lady,” he said flatly, looking at some invisible point ahead of himself.

Hunferth seemed amused. “Very well, very well. Jorek can look forward to a fortnight of scrubbing the barracks for his disobedience. But in light of recent events, I might consider shortening it to a week.”

The rest of the evening was like a haze to Livia. She could faintly recall a grumpy Breton woman in an overabundance of clothes and a silken shawl coming and kneeling over Thanael’s body, Thanael being taken out on a stretcher, someone supporting her as they walked back to the village, and Gareth and Hunferth in a heated discussion that involved a lot of hand motions and head shaking. She fell asleep as soon as she was laid in the bed.

She awoke to a beam of sunlight hitting her in the face. She moaned and rolled to her side to get out of its way, to not much use: the window was too wide for that. She stood up, put her boots on, and walked out of her room, and downstairs.

Gareth was sitting at the table, frowning as he signed something under Hunferth’s watchful eye. And to her relief, Thanael was there too. She looked paler than usual and somewhat tired, but otherwise fine. When she saw her, she smiled weakly. She was still dressed in her armour, and Livia noticed a thin dark strap on her moonlit skin where the leather was torn. She smiled back.

“Excellent!” cried Hunferth as Gareth put down a pen and sighed in relief. “Saadi, my chamberlain, shall fetch your payment. Now, if you’d excuse me, I must return to my duties.”

Gareth nodded politely, though Livia could tell that he was glad to finally be rid of him.

“Bureaucracts,” he muttered, “and their papers. How’re you, Livia?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, taking a seat.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Gareth said with a mischievous smile. “Jorek, the guard. He asked to see you.”

Seriously, thought Livia. Couldn’t you tell me that before I sat? To her side, Thani giggled. Sighing, she stood up and walked out.

Jorek stood by the door. As she walked out, he straightened up.

“You wanted to see me?” asked Livia.

“Aye, that I did,” said Jorek. He unfastened a coinpurse from his belt an threw it to her. She caught it and only then realized it was her coinpurse. She looked at him, confused.

“I can’t keep this,” he said. “It wasn’t right for me to take it, and I don’t no deserve it. So I’m returnin’ it to you.”

“But-”

“No buts there, little lady. Or you’ll do offend me.”

For gods know which time in the last few days, Livia found herself lost for words, so she just fastened the coinpurse to her belt and tried to muster a smile.

Just then, the doors opened, and Gareth and Thanael walked out. Gareth caught Livia’s sight and gestured her to follow him. She has, only turning to get one last look at Jorek. He no longer paid her any heed, now completely immersed in his guard duties. They walked out of the gate and proceeded towards the stables. Their horses were already saddled.

“We’re leaving already?” said Livia with a trace of regret in her voice. Despite the bad experience of the previous night, she wanted to stay in Illinstead a bit more. It was the most colourful town she’d ever been to, and if she remembered correctly, a fair would take place there in a few days.

“If you’d rather stay,” said Gareth as he mounted his steed, “you’re welcome to. But you’ll have to find your way back to the castle by yourself. Let’s go, Tempest,” he spoke to his horse, spurring him forward.

Livia watched helplessly as the raven horse gaited down the road. She turned to Thanael, who was also already mounted. She smiled and stroked her mare’s mane.

“After him, Siegling,” she said gently, and the snow mare took off, rushing to catch up.

“W-wait!” Livia cried, as she struggled to mount her girdan. A Cyrod stable worker laughed at her exertions, and she shot a venomous glare in his direction. She finally managed to get into the saddle, and she roughly spurred the horse into the gallop. The pair already disappeared in the forest.

“Move!” she urged. The horse quickened his pace. Wind howled in her ears as her heart beat faster. They wouldn’t really leave her.

Right?

They waited for her a quarter of a mile away. When they saw her red face and wind-rustled hair, they broke into a fit of giggles

“Not so nice nice when you get left behind, eh?” Gareth asked, spurring his horse into a trot. To the right of him, Thanael, followed suit, grinning devilishly. Livia said nothing.

“All in all, I’d call it a success,” said Gareth, holding the money bag. “Seventeen hundred Haralds,” he said. “After the ‘deduction of honourable and normative taxes’,” he added mockingly. “Which brings us to a grand total of seventeen hundred and twenty one.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out another one, much smaller. It was a coinpurse. Livia’s eyes widened. Her eyes dropped, and she patted her waist. No mistake, her coinpurse was gone. When she looked back, Gareth was lazily twirling it between his fingers.

“How did you-?”

“Let’s just say it was something I had to learn as a boy,” Gareth said.

“Give it back!” she demanded.

“So you can bribe someone else into having your way?” Gareth asked strictly. “Thani will manage your finances till the next hunt. If you don’t mess up then, you get your cut. And you get this back.” He tossed the coinpurse to Thanael.

Livia wanted to ride up to him and smack him. But all things considered, he was probably right.

“Well,” he said, after a few miles of silence, “since we’re all well rested, how’s about we race back to the castle?” Thanael nodded in agreement. “Alright!” he exclaimed loudly. “Last one there unsaddles the horses!” He spurred Tempest and galloped away.

“Hey, no fair!” cried Thanael. “Get him, Sieglind!” she commanded, and they rushed after him. Left with little choice, Livia sighed and spurred her horse.

“Come on now, uhm… horse. Move!”

She caught up to them almost a mile later. This time, they didn’t wait for her, or even slow down. They rushed like they had a deadline to meet, and their time was running out. But they didn’t and Livia couldn’t understand what the point of all this. But soon enough, Livia saw and heard them both laughing. And then she realized that there was no point: this was just for fun. And then she stopped thinking about it. Why bother, when she could just laugh with them? And she did.

They didn’t stop or slow down until the dusk. And just as the sun started to set behind Druadach mountains, they arrived to the shore of the Sea of Ghosts. Thanael, who arrived there first, raised her hands to the sky and howled in triumph. As a response, Edgtho rushed out of his shack, bow drawn. And his mood didn’t improve when he realize it wasn’t the wolves. Livia laughed joyously as Thanael fled from the limping old man, giggling like a girl much younger as he tried his best to club her to death with an oar. Maybe… maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

The passage to the castle isle was equally as pleasant. Edgtho seemed to have gotten over his anger and murderous desire and talked and joked with Thanael like they were friends of a lifetime. Livia would occasionally pitch in, but Gareth remained silent. He was smiling, his gaze was fixed on the castle.

They disembarked, bid Edgtho goodbye, and made their way to the castle, slipping more than once on the cobblestone path. But when they reached the castle entrance, Gareth’s smile melted away. And Livia couldn’t say she blamed him: the expression of red-haired woman who stood at the entrance gave a quite literal meaning to the phrase ‘if looks could kill.’

“Helena,” Gareth stuttered. “H-how’ve you been?”

Livia felt the irresistible urge to laugh again: a man who charged headfirst into the metal-clad death now crumbled into a gibbering mess before this diminutive woman.

“Helena, I’m sorry,” he continued. “I never wanted to-”

Before he could finish, the woman stepped to the side, revealing another woman behind her: even shorter than Helena, her olive skin gleamed like polished malachite in the pale moonlight. Her grassy hair was tucked away behind her pointy ears, and her whisky eyes watched him as if she wanted to devour him with her gaze.

“Findulas!” Gareth cried. Livia thought she could hear genuine fear in his voice. He turned towards the taller woman. “Helena, what is this?”

“Funny story, really,” the woman named Findulas started.

“We got together to decide what kind of present to get to you for your birthday,” Helena took over.

“But we couldn’t think of anything,” Findulas continued.

“Seeing how picky you are with those things,” Helena tied in.

“But then,” Findulas perked up, “Helena had an amazing idea.”

“Something you couldn’t say no to,” Helena finished.

Before Gareth could connect the dots, each of the women took one of his hands and started dragging him towards the castle. He only managed to shoot one last horrified glare towards the girls before he disappeared inside.

Thanael and Livia stayed outside, glaring incredulously at the door.

“Should we… go and help him?” Thanael asked with genuine concern in her voice.

“I don’t think he’d ever forgive us if we did,” responded Livia, still staring at the door.

They stood in silence for a few moments as a snowfall began around them.

“Want to take a walk with me?” Thanael asked.

Livia nodded. As much as the suggestion was out of the blue, it sounded like a good idea.

They walked down to the side of the castle, near the refurbished dock. Thanael crossed her legs on a large boulder. Livia sat in the same was opposite of her.

“So, how was your experience with the first hunt?” asked Thanael.

Livia said nothing for a few moments, searching for the right words to express herself.

“Horrifying,” she finally concluded. “I almost died. You almost died. We got buried alive and barely escaped with our lives.”

Thanael nodded, listening attentively.

“And do you want to continue?” she asked.

“Yeah.” The answer came to her immediately. “I have nowhere else to go. And here I have a brother. And I have Gareth. And you.” She briefly paused. “Master.”

Thanael’s lips stretched into a smile. She jumped off of her rock and hugged her. Livia counted at least three fractured ribs by the time they separated.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Thanael said. “I had something prepared for you. Stay here.”

Before Livia could ask what this was all about, Thanael took off sprinting towards the castle entrance. She came back a few minutes later, carrying something wrapped in brown leather. She handed it to Livia who took it with a puzzled expression. It was surprisingly heavy for its size.

“Since your first mission was a success, you’ll be allowed to accompany me on more tasks from tomorrow,” said Thanael. “And I can’t let you do it with that Septim Era sword on your hip.”

Livia’s eyes lit up and she tugged on the wrap, revealing the object inside. It was a sword. Little under a metre long, with a wide, heavy blade made out of tarnished, silvery metal, and a guard made out of the same material. The hilt was old and almost crumbling, but long enough for her to hold it with both hands. Smiling, she took it out and held it out in front of herself, trying the balance. It was a bit too heavy. She’d have to see the smith for that.

“After I was well enough to stand,” Thani said, “I went back to the mine and got this. Hope you like it.”

Livia’s smile melted away as she realized to whom the sword belonged to. What the sword did. Her eyes dropped to Thanael’s abdomen, where the gash of darkened skin stood out like a streak of blood on the snow. She lowered the sword.

“Listen, Thani,” she started. I’m sor-”

Her words were cut short with another hug.

“Don’t even mention it,” said Thani. “I’m alive and you’re wiser for it.”

Livia nodded. She couldn’t believe that she’d hated this woman just two days ago.

“Now go up to the hall,” Thani commanded, smirking. “Your brothers and sisters await you.”

Livia’s eyes lit up again. With one last hug, she ran down the shore towards the castle stairs, swinging her new sword around.

Thanael stood in the empty dock, devoid of any soul but for herself. She took in a long breath of crisp winter air, only slightly polluted by the salty smell of the sea. Her right arm absently wandered to her tummy, and her index finger caressed the place where she was cut. She smiled: by the next morning, not even a scar would remain. Nothing would be there to ever indicate that Thanael Emberstar was ever injured in battle. But she had been, and that was what finally brought Livia to her senses. And if that was the price that had to be paid for it, Thanael didn’t mind that she had to pay it.

It seemed that, in the end, she managed to win her after all.


End file.
